Unnatural
by newportbeachbabe
Summary: The day of the funeral and he's not even there. One shot. R for language.


**Title:** Unnatural

**Author: **newportbeachbabe

**Rating: **R (language)

**Summary:** The day of the funeral and he's not even there. one shot

**Spoilers:** Anything, absolutely everything, and more. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. If I did, Marissa would have been a good girlfriend and Ryan would punch more.

**Warning:** This is slightly dark and extremely bitter.

**A/N:** I've never written anything like this before. I recently read A Million Little Pieces and I'm currently reading the sequel My Friend Leonard. James Frey, the author, writes in an unusal way that is so choppy and doesn't flow at all--it's amazing. So that inspired me to try a different style. I hope it worked.

**A/N #2:**I am DYING to know what people think of this. So PLEASE leave a review. I'm begging you.

* * *

Seth, Summer, and Ryan blow off the funeral. 

Ryan is sure they will regret it later, but he decides he doesn't fucking care. Just one more thing to add to the list.

They go to a bar, a little unknown bar on the other side of Newport. It is mid day and the bar is mostly empty.

Ryan gets them all beers. It disgusts him how he does it. He flirts.

It is the day of the funeral of his ex-girlfriend, whom he has never really gotten over, and he is fucking flirting.

After the first round of beers, Ryan decides he needs something harder. Something that will get him drunk quicker, faster, stronger. Something that will take the edge off the world. Anything to forget that he should be at the funeral of his ex-girlfriend.

When Ryan comes back with one vodka and two beers, Summer gives him a look. Just one look and he gets two more vodkas.

If they are going to get past this tragedy, they need to do it together.

Ryan downs his drink before Seth and Summer have drunk half of theirs. He palms one of the beers and stares at it.

He doesn't feel any better. He is still acutely aware that today is the funeral of his ex-girlfriend.

Without a second thought, he takes a long drink from the beer. When he puts the bottle down, he finds Seth and Summer looking at him.

It occurs to him that these two have never seen him drink before, besides the occasional beer at a party.

The only person who has seen him drink is Marissa. And that was only on two fucked up occasions.

These two don't know how much liquor he can hold, or how much of an expert he used to be at this thing. This drinking, getting drunk thing.

Summer drains the last of her vodka and reaches for the remaining beer. Seth gently grabs her hand, tries to stop her. She wrenches her hand out from under his and grabs the bottle by the neck.

Seth takes it out of her hands and sets it down on the counter. He whispers something into her ear.

"I think he might need it more," he says, his breath tickling her ear.

"Fuck off, Cohen," she mumbles.

She picks the beer up again and sets it down in front of Ryan.

Today is not their day to grieve, today is his day. Later, she and Seth will climb into his bed. He will hold her and she will cry.

And Ryan will grieve alone.

Today is not their day.

Ryan barely acknowledges this simple act. He thinks about telling Seth to call Sandy.

But then the beer is going down his throat and the thought is swallowed whole.

He thinks that twenty, thirty, forty years from now, he will wish he had gone to her funeral.

Marissa would have gone to his. Wouldn't she have? Sure, she would have been a mess. And she would have been sneaking drinks in the bathroom. But she would have been there.

Ryan can't face it. He can't face the death, the crying, the grief.

He doesn't believe in death, crying, grief. If he doesn't believe in it, it doesn't exist.

And neither does Marissa.

As he drinks the last drop of beer, he is startled to feel that his cheeks are wet. With a rough hand, he swipes at his cheeks and reaches for the final beer.

Seth and Summer are still staring at him. After rummaging around in her purse for a few seconds, Summer produces a tissue. She hands the white thing to Ryan.

Ryan takes it and uses it to wipe off the counter. He doesn't fucking need a tissue.

What he needs is to be at his ex-girlfriend's funeral.

The words are on the tip of his tongue, dying to get out, dying for them to take him to the church.

Instead, a small whimper comes out his mouth.

He instantly slugs more alcohol back. Ryan Atwood does not whimper. He does not fucking whimper like a fucking girl.

He sets the beer down. There is still half a bottle left.

Summer grasps the bottle and moves it away from Ryan.

"That's enough," she says.

Ryan can feel the anger seeping into his pores, the anger that he has tried to keep at bay for most of his life.

He raises his head and his eyes flash a warning.

"That's enough," she says more firmly.

"She's dead," he says gruffly. "She's dead and we're not at her funeral. You don't get to tell me when it's enough."

"That's enough," she says yet again.

"Would you fucking shut up? Do you not get it? She's dead! Her funeral is happening right now, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead, and we're not at it," he clarifies.

Summer stares at him and all of a sudden he's flashing back to Marissa. He loved her eyes, the bright blue, the way she would look at him, as if she could see right through him.

"Seth, hand me the beer," Ryan says. He's got to get the image of her eyes out of his head.

"She's right," Seth replies.

"Hand it to me, _now_," he commands, starting to get really pissed. All he can see are her eyes and they are driving him insane.

"Dude, you need to stop."

"Stop? I've had two beers and a glass of vodka," he says incredulously. "That's nothing. Do you know how much she used to drink? I know what I'm doing. Now hand me the fucking beer."

"Say her name," Summer says suddenly.

"What?" Ryan asks, taken aback.

"Say her name. You haven't said it yet. It's always, her, she. Just say it, Ryan."

"You guys are fucking nuts, you know that?" he says. He is not going to say her name out loud. He can't.

"Say her name and we'll give you the beer," she tells him.

"What, you think I don't know her name? You think I've forgotten already?" he asks bitterly.

Her name was bouncing around his head. Every other word was Marissa, every other thought was Marissa. Marissa, Marissa, Marissa. Marissa. God fucking damn Marissa.

There was no way he would ever forget that name.

He stares the two of them down. He could take them in a heartbeat. Punch Seth so fast in the face that he doesn't know what hits him. Reach the beer and drink to oblivion.

Seth can see the demons in Ryan's eyes. He can see the anger, the pure unadulterated anger. He has seen such anger before, but this is different. He has never seen the anger so vulnerable, so cracked, so damaged.

It scares him more than the old anger.

Summer sees fear, pure fear. She can see the tears about to fall, the tears that are being held back by some macho force. She can see that he is about to break, that he is more fragile that she is right now.

She knows that he needs to be pushed over the edge.

"Her name, Ryan," she reminds him softly.

Three words and he crumbles. Don't they get it? He can't just say her name. He can't taint the world with her name.

It is his private secret, his one thing that he has left to hold on to. She may be dead in the real world, but inside his head she is alive.

She is alive, she is alive, she is alive.

It's all so fucked up.

He loved her. As much as he hates to say it, he loved her.

He does love her. He loves her so much it hurts.

And he can't just say her name.

The tears are streaming down his face, and he can't even feel them.

All he can feel is his heart breaking.

People say they get their heart broken, but this is ridiculous.

How can he hurt this much? He has suffered beatings that have broken him inside and out and it never hurt this much.

The pain brings him to his knees. It makes him clutch at his chest and sob.

She is dead. He'll never see her again.

And it's just not possible. He's only known this girl for three years, but she's touched him enough to make his heart break.

As if from a distance, he watches Seth slide the beer back in front of him.

He wants oblivion, he doesn't want oblivion. He wants her to be alive.

Whatever the hell will bring her back, he wants it. Wants it more than anything else he has ever wanted in his entire life.

And he can't say her name.

Summer kneels down in front of him and dabs at his cheeks with another tissue. She is crying too, but he is crying harder.

The tissue is soaked within seconds and the tears just keep coming.

He hears himself say something to Summer, but he doesn't remember telling his brain to say it.

She nods and has another tissue in her hands. That one is heavy with tears soon, too.

Rather than kill another tree, she gathers him in her arms.

"Okay," she says. "Okay."

* * *

Ryan watches out the window as the scenery slowly becomes sights he knows, places he's visited. 

He doesn't remember getting in the car, or even agreeing to go somewhere.

The car comes to a stop and he hears the engine stop, Seth jingling his keys, Summer unlocking the doors.

First he sees the limos, then he sees the Range Rover.

All of a sudden, he knows where he is.

He is too drunk to be here, too drunk to be doing this.

Not drunk enough for the pain to go away, but drunk enough that he shouldn't be here.

He can't be here.

Seth opens his door and pulls him to his feet, handing him a pair of sunglasses.

Ryan doesn't do sunglasses, but he puts them on anyway.

He can feel himself swaying slightly and wonders when this happened. He used to be able to knock back four beers before swaying.

As he stumbles up the steps to the church, he can hear Sandy talking.

They asked him to say something about Marissa.

Which was fucking ridiculous of them. He barely ever talks under normal circumstances. What makes them think he can talk now?

At the top of the stairs, he stops. Is he seriously going to go through with this?

Is he honestly about to go to the funeral of his ex-girlfriend drunk?

Seth and Summer come up behind him and push him towards the entrance.

The church is packed. People are standing up all along the back wall. He sees people he knows, people he feels like he doesn't know any more.

These people belong to a past life, a life that he shared with Marissa.

Summer grabs his hand and, hand in hand, the three of them walk to the front of the church.

Everyone turns in their seats to look at the disheveled teens. Ryan feels bad for distracting them from Sandy's speech, which he's sure is lovely.

Julie is sobbing on Neil's shoulder and Kirsten is holding a tear-soaked tissue to her face. There are spaces in the pews next to their respective parents.

Sandy looks up from his notes and pauses for a second at the sight of them.

Seth slides in beside his mother and wraps his arm around her shoulders. Ryan sits ramrod straight, his back stiff against the wood.

A few minutes later, Sandy steps down from the podium. Ryan can't remember a single thing the man said.

The priest gets up and asks if anyone else would like to say some words.

Through a hazy fog, Ryan watches himself stand up and walk up the stairs, carefully placing one foot in front of the other.

He hates public speaking. He hates speaking in general. What the hell is he doing up here?

He looks over at the casket, but it is closed. He remembers the viewing service they had yesterday, remembers standing in line because he was _technically_ family.

He remembers shaking hands with 700 people. Literally, 700 people.

The funeral parlor said it was the largest number of people to ever come to a viewing.

She had looked peaceful, and as beautiful as ever. But all he could see, for the entire four hours, was her lying limp in his arms, her grabbing at his shirt.

God, she was fucking gorgeous.

He turns away from the casket and looks out into the crowd. Everyone is staring at him.

"The first time I met Marissa, she asked to bum a cigarette off me. The next time, it was at a party, drinking a beer. The third time, it was when she was passed out in her drive way, blacked out because she had drank too much."

Ryan hears himself saying these words and wonders what the fuck he thinks he's doing.

"Marissa was screwed up," he says bitterly. A nervous cough goes around the room.

"She was an alcoholic, a shop lifter, and a magnet for drama."

He can see Sandy glaring at him sternly.

"But…" his voice cracks. "I loved her. We all did. She was amazing and the best thing that ever happened to me…to any of us."

Ryan can feel himself starting to crack again.

"Of course she had her flaws. And maybe her flaws were bigger than most. But, as her best friend once told me, she had a good heart. God, I can't believe I'm talking in past tense…"

His brain blanks. There are no other words there. Just Marissa, Marissa, Marissa.

"I shouldn't be making a speech at my ex-girlfriend's funeral. It's just not right, it's not natural, and it's not what she deserved. I loved her. I do love her. And I didn't tell her enough.

"For all of those out there who judged us, and I know that a majority of you in here did, don't worry about it. When we were together, she knew that I loved her and she didn't care what you guys thought about it."

Was that true? He can't even think back that far anymore.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to make this about us, or me. This is about her. She was beautiful and a wonderful friend. No matter what, she was always there for me. She doesn't deserve this.

"Yes, she made mistakes. Big ones. But she was seventeen. She was supposed to go to college with me, was supposed to grow old with me, have kids, get married, the whole nine yards. Even if it wasn't with me, she deserved better than this."

He looks at the casket and doesn't see her broken body anymore. He sees the girl at the end of the driveway, the girl that kissed him on the Ferris wheel. He sees Marissa.

"Marissa, I love you. Everyone here loves you. And you don't deserve this. It's not fair, but when was your life ever fair? Thank you. Thank you for touching me and breaking my heart. I hope you're happy, wherever you are. And I hope," he laughs, "that there's someone up there that you can bum a cigarette off of."

Ryan looks back at the audience and can feel the world closing in on him. He rushes off the stage and barely makes it outside before vomiting behind the bushes.

He should go back in there. He's supposed to be a pall bearer.

The casket probably weighs more than she does. The thought makes him laugh sullenly.

The priest is asking everyone to stand up and for the pall bearers to take their spots.

Ryan walks back into the church and takes his place beside the casket. It is the last time he will be this close to her ever again.

The tears are leaking out before they even leave the church. He lets them fall.

Orderlies, staff members, people from the parlor put the casket in the limo.

Somehow, he manages to get the last look. Before the car drives off, he gets one last look.

He prays, asks whatever god there may be, to make it all a dream. A sick, twisted, gut wrenching dream.

As the limo rounds the corner, he feels a hand clap on his shoulder.

Sandy comes into his peripheral vision.

"You okay, kid?" he asks in a soft voice.

"No," Ryan replies honestly. "But maybe one day I will be."

"She knows you loved her," Sandy tells him gently.

"I know," he says. And he does know.

He knows because this pain in his heart wouldn't be there if she didn't know.

Twenty, thirty, forty years later, Ryan will look back on this day. And he knows that it will be the day the world changed, the day of the funeral of his ex-girlfriend.

But he won't regret blowing it off, even if he was drunk for the parts he came to.

Seth, Summer, and Ryan blow off the wake. They party by themselves, watching the cemetery workers bury their best friend.

And Ryan doesn't regret a thing.


End file.
